Chani woke slowly from slumber. In the back of her mind somewhere was the notion that somebody had been calling to her, whistling to her; not a wolf-whistle but rather a summons. She looked at the small digital clock by the bedside, it was seven thirty-two. After last night, she was loth to antagonise him today by sleeping late and prepared herself to rise. What had she done, exactly? Had she come on to him? Surely not! She had been dog-tired, as tired as Rory after five pups, and yet she could not deny that it would have perhaps been pleasant to fall asleep lying beside him or even in his arms again; chemo had somehow made her unattractive to men even if she wore her wig and, the further out of practice she got, the less inclined she was to bother, even after her hair had started to grow again. And did he mean what he had said; that no-one was to blame, that it was just life. This was likely going to get more complicated before it got simpler, she thought.
She drew back the quilt and remembered that she was naked save the briefest of briefs. Had she had too much to drink? She felt that she could not face anything without coffee. Not him, not a shower, not the long drive home to that empty flat, empty of anything but memories of disease; a home devoid of even a cat, a gerbil, a hamster let alone the most adorable puppies she had ever seen and their most adorable mother. She had never been so close to something so young, mere hours old, for all that they were just dogs.
She put on yesterday's bra. Ever since puberty, going without had never been an option for her, they were simply too large; she would put on clean after her shower. She dressed in the clothes which he had laid in the chest drawer for her; a 'Grateful Dead' T-Shirt which was actually baggy enough that it did fit without being tight across the chest. The shorts also fit; she had kept trim and toned until Timothy had arrived and she was scarcely a lard-arse even now, she thought. She put on her sensible shoes and opened the door to the bedroom. As she peered down the corridor, she could see that the studio doors were shut; he was elsewhere. Going downstairs in the dim light of dawn, she looked in on Rory, who she thought looked better, not so haggard, if ever a dog can be said to look haggard.
She went into the kitchen expecting to find him there but he was not. He was, however, quite up and about; all the crockery had been cleared away, she noticed. Would he be down with the birds? It was then that she realised that she had no idea of how to work the espresso machine. She could not go looking for him outside dressed as she was. She was in a quandary. She had surely drunk too much the previous day; her head was full of fog and cotton wool and she could barely think straight. It was then that she heard it again; the whistlong, the whistle that seemed to be calling to her. She had no idea where it might be from. She heard it again, this time longer, more insistent. She wondered if it could be Leo in the garden. She moved beyond the table and peered out through the French doors over the still illuminated lawn but he was nowhere to be seen. She heard the whistle again. Although she did not know why, the fog in her mind refused to clear, she knew that she had no choice; she would have to go outside if she was to discover the location of that incessant, demanding whistle. She opened the door and the icy-cold, bitter wind cut through the flesh of her legs like a knife. Then she heard it, clear and distinct, finally she was able to place it in space, the whistle was coming from somewhere out there, beyond the lawn, over that first hedge.
Suddenly, a voice cried out in exasperation.
"Fjorgyn, if you don't shift your fucking fat arse right now, I am going to kick it so hard, you'll be in the middle of next week by lunchtime."
She had at least found Leo.
"Leo," she shouted. "Leo!"
"Leo!" she screamed at the top of her voice.
As her voice trailed away, she could hear something rustling, as though autumn winds were blowing the leaves around, leaves as dry as parchment whirling in eddying gyres. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a tall, thin man appeared from out of the hedge on all fours and, standing erect, stepped onto the patio.
"Leo!" Chani screamed, terrified by the man's sudden appearance; a scream fit to make her lungs burst.
The stranger was taken aback for a moment but, recovering his composure, spoke in a soft voice with a lilt that Chani would find hard to place, both then and afterwards.
"Are you Leo's friend?" The stranger said quietly, although he was clearly agitated by her previous reaction to his appearance. "I'm Roy, Roy the vet. I am here to see Rory. Leo said to come in the back way if I was early. Few people know the secret way, Leo, Ania, Lucjusz, Rory, me, I would have thought he might have told you since you are staying here."
She did not seem to be listening.
"Leo, help!" She screamed even louder, if such a thing were possible. "There's a man, a man in the garden!" She backed away.
"I'm the vet," the stranger said once more. "I've come to see Rory." She backed further away, only too obviously scared out of her wits.
Just then, a shout rang over the hedge.
"I swear that if you don't..."
Roy knew Leo's voice and where, from the direction of the shouting, he must be and sped across the lawn. He ran across the lawn as fast as he could, through the hedge and across the rhododendron garden and found Leo on the Tea Party lawn, shaking his fist in silent rage at Fjorgyn.
"Leo," said the vet. "It's your friend, you didn't tell me her name. I think she's hysterical. I certainly gave her a fright just now, when I came up by our secret way, although she was screaming at the top of her lungs before I appeared. I think that you should go and explain who I am and the fact that I am not some peeping-Tom pervert or rapist. Didn't you tell her that I might be coming? The back way?"
"Lord, preserve me!" Exclaimed Leo with a shout. "Of course, I bloody told her! The saints preserve me from hysterics and menopausal women....and obstinate hawks! Look, Roy, do me a big favour. Leash Fjorgyn and put her back in the weathering and feed her what's left of the food in my bag. I need to get back to Chani, that's her name, Chani; as in 'Dune'. Please?"
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